


A Single Moment

by Euterpein



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Getting Together, Like LOTS of feelings, M/M, Not Beta Read, Porn with Feelings, Post-Scene: The Ritz (Good Omens), good communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2020-09-27 16:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20411149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein
Summary: There were many moments over his expansive existence that he felt had changed him in some fundamental way; there was his first defiance of Her will in the garden, where he had given away his appointed sword and lied about it to the Almighty in some fit of either bravery or stupidity of unprecedented proportions. Before doing so he would have thought himself the kind of angel incapable of committing such an act, and afterwards he simply knew he wasn’t. A small change in an aspect of his identity, and private to his own mind, but still ground-shaking in its implications.Then soon after there had been the moment he’d met Crowley, of course.





	1. Chapter 1

Humans liked to tell each other that life could change in a single moment. This was true, sometimes, though not as often as they seemed to think. Despite being a species so defined by change that even all the hordes of Heaven and Hell couldn’t keep up with the rapid spin of their sanctities and depravities, change mostly came into their lives slowly. It happened as the building up of the thousand tiny, boring little decisions they made every day, usually having little to no impact on the grander scale of their lives no matter how important they felt at the time. It was only the sudden revelations, the waking up one morning and blearily recognizing that everything was  _ different  _ now, changed in some fundamental way from how it had been the last time they actually bothered to look, that made the weight of these decisions feel sudden. 

In an immortal being of the celestial persuasion the concept of  _ suddenness _ is perhaps a bit less than solid, but Aziraphale had to admit the idea had its aesthetic merits. There were many moments over his expansive existence that he felt had changed him in some fundamental way; there was his first defiance of Her will in the garden, where he had given away his appointed sword and lied about it to the Almighty in some fit of either bravery or stupidity of unprecedented proportions. Before doing so he would have thought himself the kind of angel incapable of committing such an act, and afterwards he simply knew he wasn’t. A small change in an aspect of his identity, and private to his own mind, but still ground-shaking in its implications.

  
Then soon after there had been the moment he’d met Crowley, of course. Even now the well-worn and long-suppressed memory sat close to his heart as a foundational one. Some decades later, there had been the moment he had first ventured into the small but wonderfully colorful collection of huts that Adam and Eve’s great-grandchildren had made. He had tasted their simple mixture of ground wheat, fat, antelope, and wild spices, and had felt something inexorable click solidly into place. There were many more, seeming to grow less close together as the world grew older; its variety grew dizzying as humans spread themselves across the planes of the Earth, shifting and changing all the while, but as successive generations repeated their ancestor’s mistakes the earth-shattering revelations became less frequent. And more focused.

Specifically, focused on  _ Crowley _ . The one creature who never failed to surprise him. Aziraphale felt distinctly that nearly every interaction he’d had with Crowley over their long history together had changed him in some indefinable way, bringing him closer to something he had always been too terrified to fully become. Throughout all the ages of the world he had remained rigidly the same, but every time he interacted with his infernal counterpart he felt a little more of him was chipped away. Once, that truth had terrified him. He’d pushed Crowley away, fully aware of the consequences of their Arrangement, too greedy to leave him behind entirely. Crowley dangled before Aziraphale like the apple had for Eve, promising and tempting and damning, if only he could reach out and pluck it.

It had occurred to him some time in the Dark Ages, as he had been tending to those Greek and Arabic tomes that hadn’t been lost to war and ruin, that he had never asked Eve if the apple had been worth it.

Now, Aziraphale could sense that another one of these life-changing moments had come to pass in the form of the end of the world that they had helped to prevent. Perhaps the most life-changing. The enormity of it hadn’t really sunk in until their frantic plan to ward off the retribution of Heaven and Hell was behind them. Like with humans and their sudden awareness of the changes that had been made in their lives, it truly hit Aziraphale as he sat at the Ritz after the end of the world and toasted his glass delicately against Crowley’s. 

_ To the world _ , he’d said. And there was so much more  _ world  _ now, for both of them. 

“It’ll all be different now, you know.” Aziraphale said. They’d made their way back to the restored bookshop after finishing their meal, already a bottle of champagne in each. Being creatures for whom drunkenness is mostly a function of believing you  _ should _ be drunk, this was only enough to put a slight sway in their step and a slight drawl in their tone, and to make the words come a little easier. They sat facing each other on one of Aziraphale’s antique loveseats, closer than they usually dared but nothing that couldn’t be mistaken for friendly.

“What’ll be different?” Crowley responded, fumbling idly with the cork of a bottle he’d found in Aziraphale’s cabinet. It was obviously one of Adam’s re-creations, as the label was blank; a child’s idea of what a bottle of wine looked like. Still, they could just miracle it into something drinkable if they needed to. 

“All of it.” Aziraphale said, simply. “Everything. No more Ineffable Plan, no more Heaven and Hell breathing down our necks. We could do anything we wanted to, or just about.” He watched as Crowley finally worked the cork out of the blank bottle, deft hands moving to pour fresh glasses for both of them. 

“And what are you gonna do with that freedom, angel?” Crowley asked, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes with his own uncovered ones. His grin was mischievous as he handed Aziraphale his wine and settled back to sprawl against his side of the loveseat. “Miracle yourself a mile-high pile of crêpes?” 

“I could, if I wanted to.” Aziraphale insisted. He had to admit that such an image was lovely, albeit somewhat... sticky. “It’s not as if anyone’s going to question such a frivolous expenditure, not anymore. I could have all the crêpes I wanted. Mountains of them. You could have an entire greenhouse stuffed into your horrifically modern apartment if it struck you to do so. Is Hell going to come calling on you after everything for bending the laws of physics a little? I think not.” He took a long draught of his wine. It was actually fairly good, all things considered. Crowley was looking at him, eyes wide, jaw a little slack.

“Anything.” He repeated, wondrously. He ran his fingers through (frustratingly) short auburn hair, almost unconsciously. “We could get lunch in a different city anywhere in the world  _ every day _ and still be home for tea.” He seemed to come back to himself with a shock. “If you wanted, I mean. Obviously, you could--”

Aziraphale stopped him by putting a warm hand on Crowley’s own where it rested against the back of the sofa. Crowley’s jaw clicked shut and he swallowed, shrinking a little in what might have been embarrassment and might have been the bone-deep hesitation they had both forced into themselves in regards to each other. 

“I’m not sure that in this moment,” Aziraphale said, slowly and carefully, “I could think of anything I would rather do than have lunch with you in this new world we’ve made together. Every day, if we wanted, and anywhere.” He steeled himself, feeling close to a precipice he had always been much too cowardly to leap from, but absolutely determined to do so now. “I couldn’t care less, as long as it’s with you.” Crowley’s throat worked, adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he seemed to struggle with his words. 

“We could go off together.” he finally managed, voice rough and low. Aziraphale knit his brows together in confusion.

“I don’t see why we should need to, anymore.” He said. “Not with Heaven and Hell off our tails.”

“No, no, not like that.” Crowley corrected. “I mean, we could go somewhere else. Get a little flat in Paris if you wanted, or Cairo, or wherever. I was only ever here ‘cause you were anyway. We could even get a cottage somewhere. I could make you a library, a proper private one, where you can keep all these,” he spun one finger in a circle to encompass the stacks and piles of books all around them, “safe from any human who might want to get their grubby hands on ‘em.”

“And you could have a garden.” Aziraphale added, contributing to this delicate fantasy with a smile that radiated boundless warmth. “As big and beautiful as you like. Our own little Eden.” His hand was still resting on Crowley’s. Neither of them had made any move to either acknowledge or relocate them. 

“Anything.” Crowley promised. His yellow eyes were pleading, begging Aziraphale for something he couldn’t quite figure out how to ask for. “Anything you want. We can go anywhere, do anything. Just. Let’s do it together.” 

Aziraphale realized with a jolt that Crowley’s face was close, so close he could just reach out and touch it. He felt almost dizzy, lightheaded with wine and freedom and forbidden sweetness held so tantalizingly within his grasp. Feeling almost as through he were watching himself do so from a great distance, Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed him. 

Humans liked to tell each other that life could change in a single moment. “Life changing” would not have been a sufficient enough description for how much this particular moment meant to Aziraphale; how much it changed him down to the very core of his being, his grace. He might have tried to put the moment to poem or song or some other medium that could have begun to address its magnificence, but that would have meant parting from Crowley’s lips, his embrace. Not even Her intervention could have compelled him to do so. Not in that moment or for many, many moments after.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night wears on, but the weight of six thousand years may be too much to bear.

The kiss was a revelation, a reveling. All those thousands of years steeped in the love of the Almighty had done nothing to prepare him for this all-encompassing and all-consuming flood. Crowley’s love was searing, burning at Aziraphale’s lips where they pressed against one another, pulsing out in a tight burst that made him pull back with a gasp. 

Crowley’s eyes were glassy and unfocused, his face slack. “Ngk.” He said, eloquently, throat working as if he were trying to find words that wouldn’t come. 

“I’m... sorry, dear boy.” Aziraphale said, hurriedly and a little breathlessly. “Was that alright?” He realized that he was still grasping at Crowley’s hand along the back of the sofa and moved to pull back, beginning to fear that he’d overstepped. Crowley’s grip tightened across his fingers before he could remove them, trying to hold Aziraphale in place while he worked through whatever it was he needed to. 

“Ngh. Yeah.” Crowley said, apparently catching up. He met Aziraphale’s gaze with a look that warred between fear and desperation. “‘S just. It’s been so long, I never thought...” He trailed off.

Aziraphale smiled softly, and a little sadly. He brought his free hand up to gently stroke the side of Crowley’s face, run light fingers through his hair, enjoying the way the soft illumination the back room afforded made the short strands glow radiantly. “I quite understand.” He said. “So many centuries I have wanted you. Wanted this.” His searching fingers followed the line of Crowley’s cut-glass jaw back to just below the soft swell of his lips. “I never thought I’d actually get to have it, either, and now here we are. I find I’d rather like to do it again, if you’ll allow me.”

Crowley huffed a short, almost disbelieving laugh, sending a puff of warm air ghosting across the back of Aziraphale’s hand. He still looked vaguely unsure, as though he were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Aziraphale leaned forward once more, slowly, looking Crowley in the eyes as long as he could before bringing their lips together once more, trying to impart as much love and promise into the gesture as he could. The lovely spark of Crowley’s love flickered through him once again as he moved carefully, using his tongue and the light fingers still on Crowley’s jaw to gently coax the demon away from the anxieties plaguing him. It was stoked into a flame as Crowley opened to him, sweetly and completely, letting the angel press his tongue into his mouth and his fingers into his hair just shy of tugging. Crowley brought flailing hands to grip at the lapels of Aziraphale’s coat, moaning a little at the flood of sensations. 

Aziraphale reveled for a moment in his ability to have Crowley here, in his arms at last, right where he belonged. He kissed him with all the passion he could muster. He gently guided Crowley to lie back along the sofa, spread out enticingly below him like the most delectable feast while protected by the shield of Aziraphale’s arms. He endeavoured to pull a symphony of soft noises from parted lips, scraping his teeth lightly along the delicate line of Crowley’s throat and coaxing out a  _ delightful  _ if entirely unintelligible string of syllables from the demon before moving back up to kiss him deeply. After several minutes of sharing desperate breaths they finally pulled apart, panting uselessly, and looked into each other’s eyes once again. Aziraphale found himself lost for a moment looking into Crowley’s eyes. Ever enticing in their hypnotic way, at the moment they were filled with such desire and such  _ love _ it made him ache. 

Crowley seemed to recover first.

“We’ve forgotten about the wine.” He mumbled, not moving an inch to try and extricate himself. He was smiling a lopsided grin and gazing rather adoringly up at Aziraphale, though just a spark of his earlier worry shone through. Aziraphale spared a glance over to their abandoned glasses and the bottle sitting open on the coffee table, deciding immediately that he couldn’t be bothered with it.

“There will be more wine.” Aziraphale said. “And all the time in the world in which to drink it. For now, I think I’d like to take you up to my flat.”

“Yeah?” Crowley whispered. He slung his arms fully around Aziraphale’s shoulders and drew him down for another deep kiss, pulling back after only a few breathless moments. “And what do you plan to do with me once I’m up there, angel?”

“Oh, my love.” Aziraphale whispered. “Any number of holy and unholy things. Anything you’d like me to do. Anything you’ll allow.”

Crowley seemed struck by this for a moment, throat working and eyes suspiciously shiny, unprepared for the unmasked honesty of Aziraphale’s answer.

“Well.” He settled on eventually. “I guess we’d better get started then.” 

Aziraphale grinned. 

They made their way up the narrow stairs to Aziraphale’s flat slowly, unwilling or unable to pull away from each other long enough to navigate the tricky terrain without tripping somewhat. Aziraphale’s extremely neglected and somewhat dusty four-poster found itself miraculously freshened and lit softly with flickering candles as they burst through the bedroom door. Aziraphale guided Crowley gently across the room until the back of his knees hit the bed, coaxing him to sit down on the edge before pulling away to a small noise of disappointment from Crowley. 

Aziraphale felt his breath catch a little at the sight of Crowley like this; his snake’s eyes were glassy and brimming with a pleading devotion as he gazed upward, panting, reverent. He still had a small amount of soot smeared into the skin near his hairline and on his hands where they dug into the fabric of Aziraphale’s lapels. His hair was in disarray from where Aziraphale had mussed it, sticking up in all directions or plastered down with sweat. He looked a mess, and in that moment Aziraphale could not recall seeing anything quite so strikingly beautiful. 

“Oh, my dear.” He breathed, barely a whisper, brushing his thumb lightly across Crowley’s cheek. “You are so lovely.” 

Out of everything they had done so far, this seemed to be the thing that made Crowley come undone. A tear fell from Crowley’s watery eyes, surprising both of them, followed by a punched-out sob. Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s waistcoat suddenly.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said, concerned, feeling suddenly out at sea. “Are you alright? Have I done something wrong?” Crowley shook his head, smearing tears into Aziraphale’s middle. 

“You haven’t done anything wrong, angel.” Crowley croaked out. “‘S just...” He faltered.

“Let me look at you, dear.” Aziraphale said, cradling Crowley’s head in his hands with extreme care as he gently sat next to him on the bed. “There now. Just what, dear?”

Crowley looked haunted, afraid, and very, very tired. He let Aziraphale wipe at his tears with his thumbs but wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. “‘S just that I’ve been wanting. Been dreaming, hoping, for so long, but I never let myself  _ believe _ .” His voice cracked and a fresh wave of tears broke from him, which Aziraphale soothed away.

“And...?” Aziraphale prompted when Crowley didn’t continue.

“And. I think....” Crowley swallowed heavily, throat working, eyes clamping shut in what might have been pain or shame. “I think this might all be moving a bit fast for me.” Another soft and nearly laugh-like sob worked its way out of him and he turned his head fully away from Aziraphale’s face to tuck into the soft warmth of his neck. 

Aziraphale felt the words like a knife to the heart. He felt Crowley cling to him like a lifeline, shaking as though Aziraphale’s solid weight was the only thing keeping him from shaking apart. His head spun with the implications those words brought and his breath hitched, throat tight. So many years of hell, and Hell. So many years of dirty work he hadn’t wanted to do, and being judged for it anyway.  _ Judged by me, _ Aziraphale thought to himself. Shame and guilt swirled in his gut. So many years of longing, endlessly following around after Aziraphale for the merest scrap of affection, kicked back by Aziraphale’s own fear and shame time and time again.

_ Oh, my love _ . Aziraphale thought. It was a prayer, though its object was in his arms rather than on high.  _ What a mess we’ve made of you, She and I. Starved you of the love you deserve so badly even a touch of it burns you. I’m so sorry. My love. My dearest. _ This much he whispered into the delicate hairs at the top of Crowley’s head, though he doubted Crowley could hear him.  _ I can’t take back what I’ve done, but I can begin anew, give you everything I should have been showering on you the last six thousand years. I swear to you I’ll try. _

He held Crowley until he stopped shaking, until he could no longer feel fresh tears through the fabric of his shirt. Even then Crowley didn’t pull away. Aziraphale sensed his breathing picking up and sensed that Crowley might slip into a panic as he thought himself in circles, and so spoke again.

“I’m not upset, Crowley.” It was a lie, though he was most definitely not upset at Crowley. He kept his voice steady enough, anyway. “Nor am I angry, or disappointed. I’m just happy to have you here. In my arms, where you belong. If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to take you to bed in a rather more domestic manner, at least for tonight.” He kept his tone light, offering rather than demanding, merely extending his hand for Crowley to grasp onto for once.

Watery yellow eyes met his once again, unsure. “Are you sure?” Crowley said. “I could go home, no need to--”

“I can assure you absolutely, my dear, that I would be lucky to have you here with me. If you’d like to stay.” A familiar dance of theirs, though more out in the open than usual. How things stay the same, as they change.

Crowley just nodded. Aziraphale smiled softly at him, snapping his fingers to don his seldom-used but exceptionally soft tartan pyjamas. Crowley huffed a laugh, then, shaking his head but offering a weak smile that speaks of fondness. He snapped his own fingers and his usual black silk pyjamas appear, making Aziraphale chuckle in turn. They exchanged looks of soft adoration and forgiveness as they tuck into bed together, finally curling up close under the covers.

As he listened to Crowley’s breathing slow into the deep pace of sleep within the circle of his arms, Aziraphale knew that not all was mended. But it was a beginning, and a path he would continue to walk down. Even if it burned his feet and blackened his wings, he would walk it. 

He pressed one more kiss to the back of Crowley’s neck, then settled in to sleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I set out to write porn but I accidentally wrote angst instead?? There will be porn eventually, I'm sure.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where the porn starts!

Aziraphale, not being quite used to sleep as a general endeavor, awoke in the very early hours of the morning. He wasn’t refreshed, per se, but the heavy weight of exhaustion that had settled onto him after the stress of the averted Apocalypse seemed at least somewhat mitigated. He blinked his eyes against the sun’s early rays spilling in through the window, his consciousness coming back to him slowly as his senses returned to him piece by piece. With a start he realized that there was an arm flung across his middle, and the events of the previous evening came flooding back to him. He looked over towards Crowley’s sleeping form and took in a harsh breath at what he saw.

Crowley was, perhaps unsurprisingly, sprawled out over his side of the bed on his stomach facing Aziraphale. The arm that wasn’t lying across Aziraphale was tucked under the pillow. His face was as peaceful and his body as still as Aziraphale had ever seen them. The duvet had slipped down (or been kicked) to lie twisted among Crowley’s feet, leaving nearly his entire form for Aziraphale to feast his eyes upon; and feast he did. 

Tentatively, Aziraphale reached over to run a delicate finger down Crowley’s back as he slept, careful not to wake him, watching the gentle expansion and contraction of his ribcage with a kind of reverence. He traced the sharply jutting bones of his shoulders, his spine. He flattened his palm to ghost ever so lightly over the dimpled cheeks of his flat arse through his pyjamas until he met the place the sheet had slipped down to, then curled his fingers again to trace swirling patterns all the way up to Crowley’s arching and indescribably fetching neck. His fingers formed and destroyed and remade constellations in the freckles dappling Crowley’s creamy shoulders.

It was funny, he thought after nearly an hour like this, still swirling idle fingers along sleep-warm skin, how very  _ human _ Crowley was. How very human both of them were now. In the beginning they’d both stood out like sore thumbs among the growing throngs. Their pale skin set them apart at first, of course, but they’d been just as unable to hide their other more inexplicable aspects. Crowley’s eyes, how  _ clean  _ they both seemed to stay, how smooth and new. They hadn’t learned to breath as a regular act, then, or how to move quite like a human might (not that Crowley had ever picked up that particular trait). Humans were sensitive to that kind of difference, even then. In the age of gods and magic they had often been received as fey, or monstrous, or merely strange, if they deigned to be noticed at all.

The lines on their faces and the marks on their skin had developed over the millennia with very little attention from either of them. They’d spent countless lifetimes among the humans, tempting and blessing and thwarting and  _ living _ , and their souls became more like that of the humans the longer they did. Their bodies were merely following suit. Human lives were so fleeting, and yet they could chip away at the most solid bastions of the divine or occult just as surely as a small bird’s beak against a mountain. 

Not that either of them had exactly counted as bastions of Good and Evil, Aziraphale could admit to himself now. Not even then.

Once the light had strengthened into the more solid yellow tones of midday, Crowley finally began to stir. Aziraphale paused his idle stroking, not sure if the touch would be quite welcome, but couldn’t bring himself to remove his hand entirely. Tiny hints of yellow peeked out from eyes blinking away sleep to peer blearily at him. Aziraphale held quite still, letting Crowley come back to himself peacefully. 

“Gotta say,” Crowley mumbled, his voice still low and rough, “I could get used to waking up like this.” Aziraphale chuckled, resuming his delicate movements up and down Crowley’s back.    
  


“I must say I agree with you on that. Quite used to it.” Aziraphale murmured back. His smile widened in a soft mirth, and his voice took on more of its usual fussiness. “Though such things require rigorous experimentation, of course. Can’t be sure until you’ve repeated yourself and gotten similar results.”

Crowley used the arm still thrown over Aziraphale’s middle to pull them closer together, propping himself up on his other elbow to bring their level. “Can’t argue with science.” He said, close enough that his (miraculously minty clean) breath ghosted delicately across Aziraphale’s face. “We’ll have to try again and find out.” He brought their mouths together once again, and it felt just as thrilling as it had the night before.

They traded early morning kisses for quite some time, luxuriating in the feeling of being able to hold each other like this. They were not, on the whole, beings with a terrible amount of  _ hurry _ built-in, and true freedom was a new concept to both of them. With the fevered rush of the evening before simmered away, they intended to savor this like the finest vintage. While they kissed they whispered soft declarations, reassurances, and exaltations into one another’s ears, sweet nothings, letting them drip into their hearts like sweet honey. Hands roamed freely and Aziraphale lost his pyjama shirt when Crowley finally had it trying to get his hands where he couldn’t see and pulled it off over Aziraphale’s head. Crowley let out a nearly wounded noise as he ran his fingers across Aziraphale’s bare chest, the soft swell of his belly. He returned to kiss Aziraphale with renewed wonder and voracity. 

Over the course of hours their slow, languid movements morphed eventually into a rhythm with somewhat more intent behind it.

“My darling.” Aziraphale gasped, managing to pull himself away from kissing Crowley for just a moment. They were still lying side-to-side, though at some point they had rolled in order to reach more yet-to-be-touched skin. “I certainly don’t want to ask anything of you if you’re not ready. But, well...” His fingers trailed from where they sat, splayed over Crowley’s chest, down his stomach to the hem of his pyjamas. Crowley obvious hardness was an answer to Aziraphale’s own desire, but he wouldn’t cross that line without asking. “I’d quite like to touch you, if you’d allow me.” 

It was an offering, again, a relatively new step for them. It was almost always Crowley that had initiated their interactions over the years; Crowley drawing Aziraphale out of his fear of Heaven and Hell to go to lunch, tempting him with little tastes of the kind of paradise one could only find on Earth. Not the food or the wine, though he had believed that at the time. That he could indulge in all on his own. It was the paradise to be found in the presence of one who loved you. Whom you loved. 

It felt quite backward to be the one offering, now, but also completely right.  _ You helped me when I was afraid,  _ Aziraphale thought, trying to express his pleading and understanding through his desperate gaze,  _ let me help you now. Please, my love. Let me prove to you my devotion. _

Crowley tore his eyes away from Aziraphale as if unable to stand what he found there a moment longer, closing them with a look approaching anguish on his face. Aziraphale let him breathe through it, trying to prepare for anything, trying not to let his own desire compel Crowley’s decision.

“It’s not--” Crowley started, somewhat unexpectedly, then stopped. Aziraphale waited for him to continue. After a moment he prompted,

“Not what, dear?”

Crowley finally opened his eyes again. “It’s not  _ right _ , this.” Aziraphale felt a heart-stopping moment of panic before Crowley continued, “I’m s’posed to be  _ good  _ at this kind of thing. I’ve wanted to be here for so  _ God-damned _ long and now I can’t stop crying and it’s  _ embarrassing _ .” Aziraphale almost laughed, heart a confusing jumble of relief and pained empathy, but managed to restrain himself.

“It’s not embarrassing.” Aziraphale insisted, wiping a stray tear from Crowley’s eye. He cupped Crowley’s face in his hands, gently, cradling rather than controlling. “We have both been through much, you most of all. I think I’m beginning to understand how true that is.” Crowley tried to look away again, dodging his discomfort, but Aziraphale coaxed him back. He needed Crowley to hear this more than anything. “You have spent the majority of your existence being told you are not worthy of love. By God. By the fallen. By me, which I believe I will spend the rest of my life atoning for. But there is one thing I need you to know Crowley, and that is this: you have been cast in the role of the villain by fate, and you have played your part well. I think you fooled even yourself. But you have not fooled me.” Crowley’s eyes were streaming tears now, and he gripped Aziraphale’s wrist as if it was the only thing grounding him, but he didn’t look away.

“I love you Crowley. You confuse and infuriate me sometimes, as I know I confuse and infuriate you in turn. But in the end, I believe we’re merely lost souls clinging to the vestiges of who we thought we were supposed to be, much more similar than we are different. I love you, and I will wait until the end of time for you if that’s what you need, but  _ please _ ,” Aziraphale’s voice broke at that and he realized that he was crying, as well, “please just know that I love you. Don’t hide it from yourself or from me, not anymore. Do that for me, will you?” He smiled a little at this last turnabout of a familiar line in their game. 

Crowley sobbed once, burying himself into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. He didn’t linger there as he had the night previous, however, pulling back after a few tense moments to look Aziraphale in the eye once again. He was no longer hiding from this.

“Fuck me.” He said, exhaling as though he had to force the words out. Aziraphale blinked.

“Are--are you quite sure, my dear? Not that I don’t want to, mind, it’s just--”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley shushed him. “You know I love you too. Always have done. I’m not gonna lie to you and tell you that I don’t have some shit to work through, but I’m... done pretending, now. I want you. I  _ want _ you.” 

“Anything.” Aziraphale promised him. He rolled them gently until Crowley laid under him, kissing him sweetly and cupping his jaw in adoration. All of Crowley’s hesitation seemed to have evaporated, his burden at least partially lifted by the clearing of the air between them. He kissed Aziraphale as though a fire was lit beneath him, desperate and joyous and unleashed. Aziraphale savoured every second.

Remembering their conversation from the previous evening about miracles, Aziraphale snapped his fingers without pulling away from Crowley. They both gasped as their pyjama bottoms disappeared, the sensation of skin on skin marvelous beyond words. Crowley looked around and gave a breathless laugh.

“Candles and rose petals, angel?” He said, grinning up at Aziraphale with a look of delirious happiness. 

“Not quite as effective with the sun still out, I’ll admit.” Aziraphale answered, dipping in for another kiss which Crowley was more than happy to supply. “But I think it’ll suffice.” He reached over to the other miraculous addition, a small clear vial which he took and twirled lightly within Crowley’s eyesight. “I know we could ease the way with miracles if we so chose, but I thought it might be nice to, well, do it  _ manually _ , as it were.”

Crowley huffed a laugh at Aziraphale’s twittering and pulled him in for another kiss, then laid back against the pillows. “Go ahead, angel. ‘M all yours.” Aziraphale’s eyes darkened with a mixture of pleasure and heat at that. He pushed himself up onto his knees and undid the cap on the vial before pouring a little on his fingers. Crowley’s breath hitched, eyes dilating at the display, and bent his legs up a little to give Aziraphale better access. 

Aziraphale thought he looked absolutely  _ edible _ like this, yellow eyes wide and flush creeping down his chest. He looked vulnerable. He looked like he was  _ his. _ Aziraphale pressed a gentle kiss to the top of one of Crowley’s knees, more to calm his own frantically beating heart than anything. Crowley’s cock, which had flagged during their emotional conversation, was beginning to renew its interest in the proceedings. Aziraphale wrapped warm fingers around it and reveled in the hoarse cry it elicited from Crowley. He stroked it to fullness as he brought his other, lube-slick, fingers down to circle Crowley’s entrance. 

“Angel!” Crowley grasped at the wrist that was stroking his cock. “If you do that, this is not gonna last long.”

“You are a demon, dear.” Aziraphale pointed out, dipping just the tip of one finger inside. Crowley threw his head back with a gasp. “It can last as long as you like.” Crowley whimpered, but released Aziraphale’s wrist. He grasped at the headboard instead, writhing and panting in his ecstasy as Aziraphale continues his ministrations. Aziraphale wrung as many delicious moans and gasps as he possibly could out of Crowley as he opened him up. He moved slowly, pushing in with one finger and lazily fucking Crowley with it for long minutes before adding another. 

“You look absolutely incredible, dear.” He told Crowley as he was pushing in a third finger. He leaned all the way over to kiss Crowley again. It was an awkward angle, but the way Crowely clutched at him and bit into his mouth was well worth it. “Come for me, please.” he begged, moving his hands in a rhythm designed to make Crowley lose all cohesion, “Let me see you.”

“Angel--!” Crowley cried as he came, nails digging into the back of Aziraphale’s neck as his back bowed upwards, mouth gone slack. He fell back to the mattress afterwards and Aziraphale carefully removed his fingers, miracling them clean and dry to pet over Crowley in the aftershocks. 

“Delightful.” He told Crowley, kissing along his sweat-drenched neck. “Absolutely sublime. Thank you.”

“Hnn?” Crowley tried to ask, still apparently seeing stars. “Are you not gonna--are you done?”

Aziraphale smiled at the slight disappointment in Crowley’s voice. “Not at all, love, merely offering you a bit of respite.”

“Oh.” Crowley said, blinking. “Don’t.” He rose up then, viper-fast, and rolled them until Aziraphale was in a sitting position against the headboard. He was a man possessed, pinning Aziraphale in place as he scrambled with one hand for the lube. When he finally found it he poured a generous amount directly onto Aziraphale’s cock (magically warmed, of course. He was a demon, not a  _ monster _ ). Looking directly into Aziraphale’s eyes with his yellow ones, he sunk down on Aziraphale’s cock in a few sinuous movements. They both moaned then. Aziraphale took both of Crowley’s hands in his and held them aloft, offering support for Crowley to push off against as well as a constant reminder that they were here, that  _ he  _ was here.

They moved together, lifting and pushing and gasping and breathing as one as Crowley rode him with abandon. Crowley had evidently followed Aziraphale’s advice because his cock filled again quickly, bouncing fetchingly where it pushed up between them. Time seemed to fall away, only the beating of their hearts and the pressure in their guts offering any mooring.

“Wanted this.” Crowley murmured at some point. “Wanted you.”

“I know.” Aziraphale answered, over and over. “I know, love. I know.”

Crowley came again first, though Aziraphale could not have told you how his own fortitude held as long as it did. His hands squeezed Aziraphale’s where they were still clutching at one another. He cried out, barely holding on as he spilled himself over Aziraphale. This vision, and the clenching of Crowley’s tight heat around him, sent Aziraphale over the edge as well. He buried his face against Crowley’s chest, shaking with the force of it. He felt as though he’d fall apart entirely.

Crowley carefully unseated himself and laid down next to Aziraphale, looking exhausted but sated. “That was. We definitely have to do that again.” He slurred. Aziraphale chuckled. 

“I quite agree.” He said. He considered for a moment, then brought a soft, warm flannel into existence. He cleaned himself up the (mostly) old-fashioned way, then moved over to run the cloth between Crowley’s thighs. Crowley barely stirred for it. He was clinging to Aziraphale’s arm in a death grip but seemed to be dropping off. Aziraphale miracled the flannel away again then moved to run fingers through Crowley’s soft hair. “Sleep a while, love.” He said. 

Just a peek of yellow eyes from below him. “You’ll stay?” Aziraphale smiled, shuffling down to wrap Crowley in his arms. 

“My dear, you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I can't seem to write porn without a ridiculous amount of feelings. Unless you're into that, in which case you're welcome.


	4. Epilogue

An outside observer might have noticed that in the days following the averted apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale’s chairs were pushed just ever so slightly closer together in whatever restaurant they happened to be dining at that time. This observer might have remarked on the casual touches that hadn’t been there before: hands placed easily on arms during conversation, fingers brushing lightly before twining together to hang loose between the pair as they walked. This person may have noted that both human-shaped beings no longer bothered to hide their adoring looks behind glasses and duty and millenia of practiced repression. Rather, they would comment on the naked openness of the affection now displayed by Aziraphale and Crowley, how they only ever seemed to have eyes for each other.

This observer didn’t remark upon these things, of course, because they didn’t exist. When Aziraphale and Crowley wanted to proceed unnoticed, which was often, human attention had a way of sliding off them like, well, water off a duck’s back. The forces of Heaven and Hell, of course, wouldn’t have approached the pair for anything just then. The only being that might have been paying the least bit of attention was the Almighty, and if She had any opinions on the matter She kept them to Herself. 

Of course, not  _ everything _ in the exploration of their newfound freedom went slowly. In the days following the apocalypse, Aziraphale and Crowley had lunch on a different continent every day until they ran out of them, then started on the list over again. They ate fugu sushi in Tokyo for the thrill of it, then proceeded to buy the most expensive sake they could find and popped back to London just because they knew they could do so, breathless and laughing as they tumbled back into the bookshop. They had salmon in Seattle, Doro Wat in Addis Ababa, Tom Kha in Bangkok. They drank their way through gløg and fernet and ouzo. They lived, unhidden and unhurried, following whatever whims took their fancy and reveling in the fact that no-one was there to stop them.

  
  
  


The time came about two weeks after the end of the world and the beginning of their new and tentative Arrangement. They’d spent the day wandering the streets of Oslo, walking through the brick-lain and sea-scented streets at a lazy pace, letting their stomachs (or rather, Aziraphale’s stomach) guide them where they pleased. They’d found a local meadery with some rather intriguing selections and then gone back to the bookshop, settling into their comfortable routine with the practice of ages.

About a bottle and a half of sweet and vaguely floral honey-wine in, Crowley got the look in his eyes that was becoming increasingly familiar to Aziraphale. It was a focus on Aziraphale’s lips, a soft and tender longing, the slight curl of a smile on the demon’s own face just begging to be answered. It still took Aziraphale’s breath away every time. Crowley looked at Aziraphale with that soft light and let the hand not holding his glass fall rather boldly to the buttons of Aziraphale’s waistcoat; not trying to open them, merely stroking the worn and well-loved cloth with a gentle caress.

“You’ve been wearing this one a bit long.” He commented, idly stroking along the patch where the fabric was beginning to fray. “It’s gone soft.”

“Happens to the best of us.” Aziraphale replied, going for dry but missing the mark a bit, distracted by the heat of Crowley’s fingers that he could feel bleeding through the thin fabric. He brought his hand up and stroked a gentle thumb along Crowley’s cut-glass jaw, meeting Crowley’s softened gaze with his own fond one. “Besides. I think we both know a little bit of soft can be quite nice in the right circumstances, hmm?” His thumb moved upwards to brush against the side of Crowley’s eyes, uncovered and open, brimming with a gentle affection. Crowley’s smile grew even wider.

“Couldn’t agree more.” He said. Aziraphale expected him to put down his glass of mead and move closer, to kiss him in that quietly passionate way he’d become accustomed to over the last week or so. They had spent much of that week kissing. Sometimes it had progressed to more intimate and exploratory measures, the pair of them determined to learn every sensitive spot and sweet noise the other could produce, as if they could apply that knowledge retroactively across the previous 6,000 years of their existence. Just as often they had ended up curled up together, watching some television programme or having Aziraphale reading aloud from one of his favorite novels. The whole week seemed so coated in bliss it almost felt unreal, and Aziraphale was more than happy to continue on as they had been. Instead of kissing him, however, Crowley surprised him by speaking:

“I’ve been thinking, angel.” He started, licking his lips in sudden nervousness.

“A dangerous endeavor indeed.” Aziraphale couldn’t quite stop himself from saying. He softened the words by reaching out to take one of Crowley’s hands, running a soothing thumb over the delicate bridge of knuckles. “What is it, my dear?”

“I’ve been thinking... do you remember that conversation we had? After the Ritz?” Crowley’s eyes were searching his, but Aziraphale just frowned in confusion.

“I believe so, yes. We talked about the nature of our existence and how we were free to be somewhat less judicious with our miracles now, if I recall. Is that what you mean?”

“Er, not quite.” Crowley fidgeted in his seat. “I was actually talking about the bit where I said we could... go away together. Get a flat or a cottage or something somewhere. You know.” 

Aziraphale’s expression cleared. “Ah! Of course. Do you know, in all the excitement that day I had nearly forgotten about that bit. A lovely idea, I think.” Crowley looked up at him, hopeful. 

“Yeah? You’d still want that?” 

Aziraphale’s expression veered towards the dangerously soppy once again. “I honestly believe that I could go anywhere with you, my dear, and be quite content. Did you have anywhere in particular in mind?” 

“Well.” Crowley reached for his phone to show Aziraphale the real estate pictures he’d been obsessively poring over the last three days. “How d’you feel about the South Downs?”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks after the averted apocalypse, A.Z. Fell and Co. shut its doors for good. Aziraphale packed his personal book collection, for which any dedicated museum director or historian would have dueled him on the spot, into a tidy stack of boxes which filled up most of the small moving van they’d hired for the purpose. His clothes and few other possessions were similarly stowed. He spent some time deciding what to do with his decoy books; those that he had stocked with the vague idea of misdirecting potential customers away from the  _ real  _ treasures but had now aged into worth of their own. In the end they found their way to the desk of whatever Oxford professor was most relevant* and he thought no more of them.

*(This had a number of unintended consequences. A little more than a hundred professors walked into their offices the next morning to anonymous packages containing books that seemed oddly targeted to their personal and professional interests, which caused a bit of chaotic frenzy as the university attempted to determine if there was some sort of security threat. For one of these professors, the book Aziraphale had sent was the  _ exact _ book he needed to complete the research he’d been working on for the better part of ten years, and this research would improve the lives of many people in a myriad of tiny ways. Unfortunately he celebrated this change in fortune by going out that night, getting absolutely pissed, and generally causing a lot of trouble for a small but significant number of people, ironically causing the net good/evil balance of this event to be exactly neutral. Life was sometimes funny like that.)

When the shop was empty, bookshelves dusty and bare, he took the opportunity to look around at the space that had been his home since tights were the height of fashion for men of a certain class. Adam had restored it just the way he remembered it being; there was not a scorch mark left where the candle had fallen over on the floor, no soot lingering around the lofty rafters. Still, age and use had taken its toll. It had been brand new when he’d purchased it over two hundred years ago; the wooden floors and wallpaper had gleamed, he remembered, the bright smell of polish making him nearly burst with pride and excited anticipation. He had put so much of himself into this place, since then. The floors had softened in patterns from his familiar footfalls. 

The small bell above the door tinkled behind him, and Crowley’s familiar voice called out softly:

“All right, angel?” Aziraphale took a deep breath, looking around once more before turning towards the entrance. Crowley had a slightly worried expression on his face, creasing his forehead above his sunglasses. Aziraphale smiled back.

“Yes, it’s all right.” He said, truthfully. “Is the van packed up?”

Crowley nodded, still looking concerned. “Yeah, but, it’s not too late, you know. You could stay, if you wanted. Or keep the place, let someone else run it sometimes and come back whenever you want. You don’t have to--” He was hushed by Aziraphale’s finger on his lips.

“I know.” Aziraphale told him softly. “I know, Crowley. I want to.” He intertwined the fingers of one hand in Crowley’s and turned again until they were both facing the quiet interior of the bookshop. He leaned his head on Crowley’s shoulder, just breathing a moment, letting the reality of it wash over them both. He thought he heard Crowley sniffle, just once, and smiled, though he wasn’t so cruel as to mention it. 

“This place was mine.” Aziraphale said after a while, head still resting on Crowley’s (admittedly too pointy to be very comfortable) shoulder. “I let you in, wanted you here, as you did for me with your flat. But in the end, it was mine.” He squeezed their hands together tightly for a moment. “I do believe I’m ready for a place that’s ours.”

He could hear the way Crowley’s breathing picked up at that. “Y-yeah, angel.” Crowley choked out. “Me too.”

Together, they turned and walked to where the van sat parked, hands clasped all the while. 

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read and not brit-picked, so please excuse any mistakes. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
